Lipstick, Lies & Loyalties
by Infinity-Ends
Summary: New town. New family. New friends. New life. How can Bella Swan keep her past hidden when it becomes so interwoven with her present? Will Edward Cullen still want to be a part of her future or will their unlikely romance be a casualty of her lies?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Thank you to my beta *wave*. You are a genius. It's amazing how you understand what I'm 'trying' to say in all my blanks. TY. TY. TY.**

**Thank you to A_H for following me over to the Dark Side from the HP fandom. You're my muse and without you my creative juices would run dry.**

Review? Please?

I own no part of the Twilight franchise. Most unfortunate, really.

**LIPSTICK, LIES & LOYALTIES**

There was something exquisite and magical about a sunny day in Forks. Perhaps it was their rare occurrence, their elusive nature, or their subtle ability to brighten the otherwise drab, green foliage that plagued every inch of the perpetually damp town. Whatever the reason was, it changed things noticeably. The difference was palpable in every facet of the small community - children whizzed down the gravel roads on shiny silver mountain bikes; old salt-and-pepper bearded men strolled down to the river, tackle box in hand; and even the small cluster of family-owned shops in the middle of town were bustling with window shoppers and street vendors. It was as though every single member of the three-thousand person Pacific Northwestern town had come outdoors, subconsciously leaning toward the sun like a flower in a patch of shade.

However, on the day of my arrival, while everyone else in Forks basked in the sunshine, soaking it in greedily before it disappeared again for an unpredictable length of time, I found myself growing more and more sour by the minute. In Phoenix, _rain_ was the exception. In Phoenix, you could go to the mall or the movies or sleep in on a day like today without feeling guilty for not appreciating such fine weather. Not that Forks even had a mall or movie theater or any real comparable place of indoor entertainment. I sighed. Forks didn't have much of anything, really. Except now it had me, a concept I forced myself to bitterly swallow for the umpteenth time since I had landed in Port Angeles earlier that afternoon.

Phoenix seemed like a distant memory, even though it was only six hours, two bags of airline peanuts and a connecting flight away. Watching the greenery pass by outside my car window I wondered how this improbably arrangement could have ever become my reality. The answer was painful so I changed my line of thought and instead pondered what kind of life awaited me here in Washington. We passed a small diner, where most of the patrons sat with their sandwiches on the outside benches, chatting and laughing. I tried to picture myself sitting among them, nibbling Turkey on rye bread and listening idly to the buzz of conversation. It wasn't a horrible scenario and I felt the anxiety pressing against my chest lessen slightly in response. Maybe I could fit in here more easily than I had originally thought.

I had stood out on the curb surrounded by my luggage, desperately searching the street for a recognizable face. For a moment, I'd felt panic creep into my throat as I realized I probably wouldn't even know Charlie's face if he stood right in front of me. Our last face-to-face meeting had been when I was six. Besides the obvious fact that my memory had to struggle to reach back so far, I was sure his appearance had changed since then. I knew mine certainly did. Still, I'd scanned hopefully looking for someone who might possibly possess noticeably similar physical features to me. After all, I was his daughter.

I didn't have to look long before my eyes came to rest on the person who I'd realized had come to pick me up. Even though I had never seen her before in my life, the recognition was immediate. Charlie had mentioned the possibility of being tied up when my plane landed.

Seeing Rosalie for the first time had reminded me of a trip I'd taken to Niagara Falls with my mother when I was twelve. I had been disappointed by our vacation destination, voicing my preference for a theme park or tropical beach location instead, but my mother had been steadfast in her resolve. Beaches and theme parks were a 'dime a dozen' she'd say. _We're going to see something one-of-a-kind._ I had laughed, because truthfully, my mother was one-of-a-kind too and the whole trip suddenly had more meaning. Still, I had sulked throughout the entire flight and subsequent car ride, fantasizing about pink sand and nausea-inducing rollercoasters.

When we finally arrived, I vividly remember walking up to the edge of the cliffs overlooking the Falls and immediately feeling foolish that I had desired a more generic vacation spot. There was something breathtakingly magnificent about the violently dangerous rushing water. I was rendered speechless against my will by its sheer beauty. It was absolutely awe-inspiring how something so astounding could manifest itself in nature.

Rosalie was Niagara Falls in the flesh. She was jaw-droppingly beautiful; almost regal in presence and she commanded the attention of everyone around her. My intuition told me she was dangerous. If you got too close, she would pull you under without a second thought. I knew all of this as certainly as I'd known she was Charlie's step-daughter, even though I'd never seen so much as a picture of her. We'd spoken twice for all of eight seconds when I had called to speak to Charlie about the arrangements and our conversation was barely more than a few syllables. She had answered the phone and I had asked politely to speak to Charlie. Neither time had she asked who I was or what I wanted and neither time had her part in the exchange gone past, "Hello?" Still, I was able to make the connection instantly. The voice on the other line had a distinctive wind-chime quality that matched the glowing picture of perfection exiting the Jeep across the street. That and the universe hated me, so of course Charlie's preferred brand of daughter would be the embodiment of physical flawlessness. My plain ordinary looks couldn't compete even if I wanted to.

I had collected my bags quickly and rushed across the street, nearly being struck by a taxi in the process. My face had flamed as the driver leaned unnecessarily on his horn and threw his hands up in exasperation. Mouthing a desperate 'sorry,' I'd flicked my eyes forward just in time to catch the end of Rosalie's snicker.

When I'd reached the silver Jeep unscathed, I had sighed and let my luggage slide unceremoniously off my arms. She'd eyed the bags around my feet with blatant contempt and I was suddenly embarrassed of the juvenile purple polka-dotted canvas pattern I had insisted upon when I was thirteen. Still pink from the near-taxi accident, my face grew impossibly warmer.

Tearing her eyes from my luggage with a sigh, Rosalie had popped the trunk open then climbed into the driver's side seat, making no move to assist me with my things. Flustered by the cool reception I had tossed my bags haphazardly into the vehicle's back compartment and scurried around to the passenger side door, pulling it open and jumping inside. She'd turned almost fully in her seat and gazed at me in appraisal. After an uncomfortably long minute of inspection she'd scoffed with a slight shake of her head and straightened back around in her seat. I had chewed my bottom lip and busied myself with inspecting the seam of my jeans until I'd heard the engine roar to life and felt us pull away from the curb. I knew I was no budding beauty, but the ethereal creature to my left had actually scoffed at my appearance. It had made me wish I'd climbed into the trunk with my luggage rather than the front seat beside Aphrodite herself.

Now, here I was, sitting stone still, forcing my attention out the passenger side window and pondering the universe's plan for me now that I'd been self-exiled to Forks. Here I was, picturing myself engaging in mundane activities and unintentionally allowing Phoenix to fade impossibly farther into the distance. A stunning sound interrupted my thoughts.

"You'll be sleeping in the living room."

My head snapped up, mostly in surprise that Rosalie was speaking directly to me, but also in a slight bit of panic at the meaning behind those words as I began to comprehend. Charlie had assured me that there was a spare room available and I had been immensely relieved that I wouldn't have to encroach on Rosalie's space and share with her. Now that I had actually met her, I was pretty sure I'd be sleeping on the porch before Rosalie shared _anything_ with me. I was working up the courage to ask her about the supposed extra bedroom without sounding ungrateful, but before I could get my mouth to work properly Rosalie's fingers were on the radio dial. She quickly selected a screechy rock song and turned the volume up, almost certainly as high as it could possibly go. It was a pretty clear indicator that our conversation was over, if you could even call our one-sided exchange a conversation.

I turned my attention out the passenger side window again, idly naming the things we passed in my head. _Tree. Tree. Tree. Mile marker. Tree. _Inwardly, I sighed. Drives in Phoenix weren't much more exciting, especially once you reached the more rural areas. It was a little more - _Desert. Desert. Cactus. Cactus - _but it was repetitive scenery all the same.

I knew I was rationalizing. I knew I was grasping and trying to connect Phoenix and Forks in any way possible but, Phoenix was gone. Phoenix was my past. Phoenix was becoming more and more distant by the second. And I had decided on the plane that all my pain would stay back there. I was living the dream. How many people got to start over the way I could in Forks? Sure, the circumstances of the move were extremely unpleasant, but I was a professional when it came to denial and Charlie hadn't ever asked for any details. Maybe Phoenix, I decided, never really existed. All it had ever been was a figment of my imagination - my childhood, my friends, my school, my room, _my mother_.

I swallowed hard and attempted to refocus my attention on the passing scenery visible through my window, only now the trees were stationary. I was confused for the slightest of moments before I realized that _we_ were no longer moving. We had pulled into the driveway of our destination. _Home_ I thought bitterly.

Rosalie turned off the Jeep's engine with a quick flick of the keys and hopped out. She didn't grant me even a fleeting glance over her shoulder as she made her way up the front steps and disappeared into the white-sided house. I wondered if she was this cold to everyone or if I had done something specifically to offender her, besides existing. Maybe if I explained the situation and reassured her that I wouldn't be here if I had any other possible place to go, she would feel some compassion. Or, if possible, she could hate me more. I sat there for a moment letting everything sink in, picking at my fingernails and peaking up at the unassuming house in front of me.

Truthfully, if I let my mind go there, I wasn't sure how I had even arrived here. Not _here_ as in Forks, Washington because that was quite simple, but _here_ as in this exact moment in time. I had always believed that we spent our lives traveling down a path that we created for ourselves through a systematic process of choices and decisions all with self-preservation as the intended goal. Apparently, I had done a pretty poor job considering I was basically throwing myself straight into the lion's den, opening myself for the possibility of being swallowed whole by rejection and loneliness. I knew what kind of feelings manifested in a place like Forks because my mother vividly described them to me every time I brought up my father. Regret was always the most prominent and potent she would offer, letting her eyes cloud over with palpable pain in the process of begging me to never make the same mistakes she had.

I snorted and leaned over the Jeep's center console to press the trunk release button. I heard the 'pop' of the latch giving and sighed in preparation of the task ahead. Besides the physically exhausting chore of dragging all my bags up the porch steps and into the house, I was expecting the rest of the afternoon to be emotionally draining as well. My nerves were already frayed in anticipation of what waited for me beyond the screen door on the porch. Still, I couldn't sit out in the driveway forever. _Or could I?_

Shaking my head in defeat, I accepted the fact that any attempt to prolong the inevitable would be just that. It was time to put the big girl pants on and face the path my seemingly poor decision making had placed me on. I gripped the passenger side door handle and pushed, opening the door wide and sliding out. It seemed I was going to be single-handedly carrying my bags again, so I stretched my arms out over my head in preparation for the task.

After I had strategically hung my luggage from every available limb, _and _staggered across the front lawn, _and _stumbled up the porch steps ungracefully, _and_ fought the screen door open with my foot, I froze. Feeling all kinds of uncomfortable and intrusive, I lingered in the doorway for a moment. I was an outsider come to up heave the lives of a perfectly content family. With a sigh, I reluctantly crossed the threshold, moving into the foyer and fighting to pull all my luggage in behind me as surreptitiously as possible. Despite my failed attempts to be quiet, it didn't appear that there was anyone around to notice. I inspected the room to my left, which happened to be the living room, and warily eyed the teetering stack of pillows and blankets set carefully on the arm of the dark brown couch. As I continued to stand there, uncomfortably shifting the weight of my bags, I felt my cheeks go pink at the visual confirmation of my sleeping arrangements and further proof of the burden I had become. Unfortunately, I only had a few moments to revel in my self-pity before my thoughts were interrupted by a set of heavy footsteps moving slowly down the stairs.

When Charlie hit the landing and we stood face to face for the first time in over 10 years, I must say I was mildly disappointed with his reaction. I had prepared myself for the possibility that he would be angry or perhaps even disgusted by my presence. His absence in my life was a clear indicator of the type of relationship he was comfortable with us having. I knew forcing myself into the pretty picture of perfection he had built here in Forks might illicit some level of resentment. Rosalie had already confirmed the fact. Alternatively, I had also allowed myself the smallest consideration that he might be downright pleased to have me. Of course by small I mean I had constructed elaborate fantasies in which he would hug me awkwardly at the airport and apologize profusely for ever listening to my mother's desperate warnings to stay away. I imagined him pulling out a large stack of envelopes held together with a worn rubber band from inside his coat pocket, grinning. He would proceed to tell me he really _had_ sent birthday and Christmas cards to me all these years, but my mother had sent them back without me ever knowing in an attempt to poison my impression of my nonexistent father. Either way, I had anticipated a monumental moment where a line would be drawn and I would finally discover if I had been accepted or rejected. Not that such labels really mattered anyway, because I was here now with no other options.

His reaction to my presence in the foyer, still clutching my luggage around me like a shield, was unexpected and a tad bit unnerving. The only word to describe it was indifference. And then, as he met my eyes, pain registered across his features for the briefest of moments before his face resumed its disinterested slack. I worried my bottom lip between my teeth, suddenly aware of how painfully the straps of my heavier bags had begun digging into the soft flesh of my shoulder and fingers. He cleared his throat and my eyebrows rose slightly, waiting expectantly for him to break the suffocating silence that permeated between us.

"Sorry about the temporary sleeping situation," he mumbled, looking appropriately apologetic and nodding towards the living room. "Your room should be ready in about a week. It used to be my office, but there was a lot more work to be done than I expected."

Part of me wanted to desperately reassure him that it wasn't necessary. I didn't want to take away his office anymore than I wanted to be thrust into the middle of his seemingly Hallmark-quality life. However, I was also pretty opposed to making the living room my permanent sleeping quarters so I nodded dumbly letting the silence stretch out between us again. I tried to shift ever so slightly to change the angle at which my luggage straps were digging painfully into my skin, but the motion must have been noticeable because I saw Charlie mentally slap his forehead as he rushed forward to take my bags.

"How was the flight?" he asked, carrying my purple polka-dotted luggage into the living room and placing it down near the couch.

"Fine," I answered with a noncommittal shrug, dragging my feet as I followed him. I loathed awkward forced conversation and in my many years of uncomfortable situations, this was taking the top spot.

"And Rosalie had no problems finding you? I'm sorry I didn't come myself, but I've really been using every spare moment to get your room in order. I should have started the renovations sooner."

I cringed at his word choice. 'Renovations' sounded like a lot of work, time and effort. I was being far more intrusive than I liked.

"Don't go crazy," I pleaded. "I don't want to be a bother. I could probably finish it up myself actually. I'm pretty handy with a drill."

I paused; waiting for the familiar response I earned whenever I claimed to be good at something as reliant on hand eye coordination as using power tools. Instead Charlie simply shook his head with a small smile.

"Don't be ridiculous. I only need to put another day or two of work in. I rather enjoy the physical labor. It makes me feel young again."

That's when it hit me. He didn't laugh and dismiss me because he didn't know me. Charlie had no idea that I could probably injure myself fluffing pillows. My attempt at lightening the mood had fallen completely flat because my biological father was entirely unaware of even my biggest and most obvious flaw. He didn't know that I was clumsy or that I was an accident magnet. He didn't know that I was terrible at math or that I fainted at the sight of blood. He didn't know my favorite color - blue - or my favorite flavor of ice cream - Rocky Road - or my favorite author - Jane Austen. He didn't know that I sang 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' at my Kindergarten graduation or that I broke my ankle three times in seventh grade. He had never been around to learn any of these things. I knew my mom had spoken to him occasionally on the phone over the years; certainly there were some things she must have mentioned about me that he could remember.

"I'm sorry for the circumstance, but I'm really glad you're here Isabella." Charlie's quiet voice broke through my thoughts.

"It's just Bella," I corrected with a heavy sigh. No, he knew nothing about me at all.

"Well, Bella, are you hungry?"

"No, I'm fine. I ate on the plane," I answered quickly. My stomach groaned in protest of my half-truth. Salted airline peanuts barely constituted actual food, but I couldn't bring myself to be any more of a nuisance. Once Charlie was out of sight and occupied I figured I could poke around in the kitchen for something.

"Alright." Charlie slid his thumbs through his belt loops and rocked back on his heels. A deep crease indented his forehead and his eyes shifted towards the staircase. I could tell he was anxious to get back to what he had been doing and I was more than ready to end our awkward exchange. My mind worked to find the words that would give him a way out.

"It's been a long morning. I'm just going to," I motioned towards my pile of luggage. _Unpack? _"relax," I finished lamely. Seeing as my personal space was presently non-existent, there wasn't much unpacking to be done. The currently indeterminate amount of time I'd be living out of my suitcases only further fueled my desire to have Charlie return to his office to bedroom construction. I forced a yawn for credibility and Charlie nodded, relief smoothing the crease in his forehead.

"You just make yourself at home then. Kate should be home soon. Her shift ends at six. She can not wait to meet you." Charlie's words were filled with sincerity, but I doubted his wife was nearly as enthusiastic about my arrival as he made her out to be. Of course, stranger things had happened. My presence in Charlie's Swan's living room, surrounded by my material things was a testament to the fact. Still, I mustered an enthusiastic smile, because I owed him at least that much. He returned it with his own, which was marginally less forced than mine, and turned to leave the room.

I waited until he ascended the stairs and exited my line of sight before I allowed myself to sink down onto the brown couch with a sigh. I leaned my head back against the cushion and closed my eyes, inhaling calculated breaths through my noise, counting to ten and then exhaling them slowly out of my mouth. Being calm didn't quell the conflicting emotions swirling inside my skull the way I'd hoped.

Awkward and out of place wasn't a foreign feeling for me. Anything involving any real physical ability elicited the same sensation I felt now, sitting in Charlie's home in Forks, Washington. The familiarity of these feelings was almost comforting, if not for the fact that other alien feelings accompanied the recognizable ones. There was now a dull fear that coming here was a mistake. There was a rattling nervousness that I would prove to be an absolute thorn in the Swan family's side and they'd ask me to leave. There was a surprising ache of desire to be accepted, even though I had repeated a countless number of times to myself that I didn't care. There was obvious embarrassment and pathetic self-pity. And then there was unnerving sadness tinged with guilt over what had driven me here in the first place seeking the undeserved charity of a place to live. Fortunately, that last emotion was subdued with ease and then ignored. Self-preservation could be immensely strong, and I knew my entire existence was balanced on my ability to disregard what had occurred to make the current situation plausible, let alone possible. If I slipped up and dwelled on the past for too long, I would unravel. And I liked being in one piece, thank you very much. Feeling normal was almost as good as being normal.

When I opened my eyes I sighed again and I was more than a little surprised to hear my breath hitch. Reflexively, balled fists went to my eyes in an attempt to contain what I knew was to follow - tears. I immediately felt wetness against my knuckles followed by a swell of anger. My little mental pep talk had backfired horribly and now my body was completely betraying me. I didn't want to be crying. I shouldn't be crying. _Aw, hell, I'm really crying_.

I rose from the couch and moved quickly towards the front door, catching my foot in a luggage strap in the process. I managed to avoid a face plant, but my anger bubbled irrationally and the tears came harder. Desperate for the fresh air and solitude I found my footing and continued to the front door. I could just imagine if Charlie, or God forbid Rosalie, came downstairs and saw me sniveling in the living room like a baby. I jerked the screen door open and flung my body out into the cool air with a sob. I don't know if it was that my mind was so preoccupied with the need to get out or that my vision was so badly blurred by my tears, but whatever the reason I was completely unaware that anyone was in my path of escape. The fact was only made apparent when I slammed into someone, hard, out on the porch with such force that we were both propelled backwards.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: **Thank you to my beta *wave*. You are a genius. It's amazing how you understand what I'm 'trying' to say in all my blanks. TY. TY. TY.**

**Thank you to A_H for following me over to the Dark Side from the HP fandom. You're my muse and without you my creative juices would run dry.**

**Review? Please?**

**I own no part of the Twilight franchise. Most unfortunate, really.**

**LIPSTICK, LIES & LOYALTIES**

"Lauren Mallory or Jessica Stanley?"

I rolled my eyes and raised the brown bottle of liquid in my hand to my lips, tilting my head back to take a slow swig, effectively finishing off its amber contents. It was an unusually warm sunny day in Forks and we were enjoying it the only way we knew how - sitting down by the river and slowly getting buzzed as we bullshitted the afternoon away. "Do you want to know which I would have picked before I fucked them both or after?"

Now it was Jasper's turn to roll his eyes and he didn't disappoint. Of course, this admission wasn't entirely true, nor was it something in which to take pride. However, I would only be demeaning myself further by explaining my true encounter with Stanley at a party sophomore year in Mike Newton's backyard. Let's just say she only stopped flinging her half-naked body at me to vomit in the pool right before passing out in a lawn chair. Naturally, she maintained that we had 'done it', wanting to be known for bagging the supreme tail that is Edward Cullen. Regardless of how repulsed I was by the thought of touching her pre-puke or otherwise, I never sought to correct her little fantasy.

"That's just wrong," Jasper groaned, almost as if he'd been privy to the memory playing inside my head.

I snickered before we both turned expectantly to face Emmett, eyebrows raised, waiting curiously for his answer. He scrunched up his face in concentration as he grabbed another beer from the cooler at his feet and passed it towards me. I took it with a nod of thanks and twisted the cap off with my teeth.

"Which one can tie a cherry stem in a knot with her tongue again?"

"Stanley," I responded, grinning widely and earning another dubious eye roll from Jasper. Again, my knowledge of Stanley's tongue talents stopped there. She had shown me the erotic party trick once, with the promise of a more 'first-hand' experience of her abilities if I so desired. I didn't.

"Ok, that one then," Emmett answered with a nod of conviction.

I looked at him for a moment before bursting out in laughter and shaking my head in genuine amusement. I honestly couldn't comprehend the attraction to Stanley, or anyone else for that matter, when he had claim on a much more coveted piece.

"You're fucking Rosalie-freaking-Hale. That should have been your answer," I exclaimed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jasper lower his head into his hands with a moan of disgust.

"Dude, I told you to cut that out. I'm not fucking her," Emmett growled, emphasizing the offensive word and kicking my shoe with his own. His obvious agitation only fueled my enjoyment of the entire exchange further.

"Oh yeah, my bad. You guys what…make love?"

Jasper groaned again, louder this time, and pulled his hands over his ears. "Shut the fuck up both of you. She's my fucking sister."

My eyes met Emmett's and his annoyance quickly dissipated as we broke out into a laughing fit at Jasper's expense. It was all too easy. We had done this bit many times before, but it never seemed to get old. He was verbally the least crude of the three of us and two expletives in one short exchange was quite an accomplishment, even for an asshole like me who was fully in tune with the inner workings of Jasper Hale. I knew exactly what pushed him over the edge. I also knew that Emmett's annoyance at my frequently demeaning assessment of his relationship with Rosalie would pale in comparison to knowing the secret I shared with his female counterpart. Had I been willing, Hale's name could have easily joined the ranks of Stanley and Mallory. Oddly, it was effortless to keep this delicious piece of information to myself and I idly wondered if I was becoming soft. Sparing feelings had never been my forte, yet somehow I'd always felt it imperative to deny Emmett this truth.

After our chuckles died down, a comfortable silence settled over our unlikely group, each of us staring out over the river and appreciating the simple moment in our own unique way. Anyone unfamiliar with our trio would have gawked at our glaring physical differences as we lounged in the grass knocking back beers and comparing our female classmates on a scale of sexual deviance. Speaking to each of us one-on-one would only further the confusion over what we possibly had in common that kept us so inseparable. Truthfully, I wasn't sure of the answer myself. Maybe it was the fact that the majority of the high school male population was comprised of horny, pre-pubescent, pretentious dipshits who's definition of 'hardcore' was passing out in pool of their own vomit after two light beers. Options were limited in a place like Forks where Tyler Crowley's great-grandfather opened the town's first and only still-standing auto-garage and pinned Angela Weber's great-grandmother at the Spring Fling dance of 1935. The family lines that made up the tapestry of Forks had been intertwined so frequently it was almost incest. There was just not enough fish in this little pond. I wanted to associate with none of them.

Emmett, for all intents and purposes, was my brother. We shared no glaring physical similarities apart from the tell-tale pale skin indicative of living in the Pacific Northwest, but if we were going on that fact alone it could easily be said that I was related to the entire population of Forks. Emmett was at least six-five and two-hundred and sixty pounds of muscle. His shoulders were square and solid and almost as wide as a doorframe. Naturally cut in all the ways vain body builders spent years torturing themselves trying to attain, he was quite the physical specimen. Though he trumped me in age by one year, he was younger in all the ways that mattered. Most of his time was spent acting like a child and reveling in the spotlight. He mingled with the townies far more than Jasper and I felt necessary and even willingly subjected himself to joining the homosexual love-fest that was the Forks high school football team. For some reason lost on me the student body found Emmett's tendency to be obnoxiously boisterous and immature endearing. These traits often awarded Emmett a nauseating amount of male high-fives and female hugs throughout the school day. Jasper and I tormented him endlessly for his sickeningly friendly behavior that often afforded the two of us much more attention than we liked, simply by association. And that was saying a lot considering Jasper and I were basically avoided, at least by the male population. Our infamy was much more fear-based than the adoration fueled popularity of the teddy bear that was Emmett Cullen. Still, he was family as far as I knew and he was entertaining if nothing else. Above all he always meant well, even if he frequently annoyed the shit out of me.

However, the stark differences between us were not purely coincidental, as we weren't actually connected by blood at all. We shared the common bond of under-funded foster homes and an unexplainable appeal to the ever generous Dr. Carlisle Cullen. Putting it bluntly, we were adopted.

Carlisle Cullen was a difficult man to describe purely because syllables lacked the deference he deserved. Coming from a self-important asshole like me, that was an enormous compliment. Besides the obvious charity of adopting misfits, Carlisle gave us a life to rival Little Orphan Annie. 'Rags to riches' was an understatement, because I didn't have so much as a dirty sock to my name before the good Doctor came along. He claimed he lived a lonely, unfulfilling life despite his monetary success and that the field of medicine was never a cash cow for him, it was a passion. So who better to spoil than parentless pre-teens with inescapably bleak futures? Monetary success my ass, Carlisle was fucking loaded.

I was never one to covet material goods, but I couldn't deny the fact that they certainly made life more enjoyable. I splurged only in areas of importance, like music for one thing, otherwise I liked to keep it simple. Obviously, my views of what was considered simple was somewhat skewed, as Carlisle insisted on Egyptian cotton, designer duds and the silver tricked out Volvo I received on my sixteenth birthday. It was also difficult to be modest when you lived in the biggest most ornate mansion on the entire Olympic Peninsula. Still, I was silently thankful for the life I had unwarrantedly managed to acquire, never forgetting the places I had come from; as if such a feat was even remotely possible.

Carlisle approached everything with a carefully practiced bedside manner. He relayed the truth in doses that he deemed easy to swallow, all the while staying baselessly positive. He had the ability to slap you with a death sentence in the same exact tone as he would use when politely ordering his breakfast in the startlingly white hospital cafeteria. I supposed he was probably pretty good at relaying comfort, not that I ever went to him for any. As far as I was concerned he was probably pretty good at rectal exams too, and I certainly wasn't going to stroll into his study asking for any of those. That basically defined my relationship with the illustrious Dr. Cullen. I knew he had an arsenal of talents and fatherly qualities just waiting to be unleashed the minute I let my guard down and asked him for something ridiculous like advice, or a fucking hug. Of course my judgment never lapsed so horribly that I needed to worry about him trying to pull a bonding moment or some shit, and that was saying a lot considering I had stumbled in pretty drunk on more than one occasion. Carlisle left me alone for the most part, which I appreciated. It made me feel guilty as hell to admit I was probably an absolute disappointment. After all, no one adopts a kid with the hopes of having nothing more than a cordial acquaintance for all their trouble.

Carlisle's career kept him away from home much of the time, especially in the more recent months. Forks hospital was severely understaffed and he took it upon himself to cover the work of three since hospital funding was equally gimped. In addition, true to form, Carlisle was helping with non-profit trials out of state that often had him absent for entire weekends. Emmett and I took advantage of this prime situation, each in our own ways. Mr. Popularity threw grandiose parties for the entire student body or played touch football in the den. Once Emmett had boasted of watching porn on the big screen in Carlisle's room. I don't know what repulsed me more - the thought of Emmett watching porn or the mental image of a vagina on an a sixty-two inch screen. Both had been fucking disturbing.

I used the time more seriously, glad to have free reign of the house. With Carlisle around I spent most of my time in my room, out from under his curious gaze and prying personal questions. Of course, anyone else would consider his line of questions completely customary, but I was more private than your average person.

Jazz and I would sometimes sit in Carlisle's study, rifling absently through drawers and papers on his desk, sipping a few beers. Carlisle didn't approve of us drinking, but as long as we kept it out of his sight he never said a word, even when the stock in the refrigerator mysteriously dwindled. Of course, Emmett could easily pass for of age, so a quick drive over to Port Angeles where we wouldn't be recognized usually kept our fingers off Carlisle's store. Probably more disgusting than the excessive drinking in his absence was the invasion of privacy, especially coming from someone who savored his so. I just couldn't help myself. I found something intriguing about the medical documents Carlisle kept tucked in the filing cabinets in his study and the piles of articles stuck in his desk drawers. I had taken to pillaging his study for reading material so often that I was becoming quite versed in the language of medicine. I was also becoming quite fucking guilty.

One person, however, was not so pleased with the frequency of Carlisle's absence. Of course, after a few short hours of pouting, she was always quick to join in on the perks. Her method of 'taking advantage' mirrored that of Emmett's, although it was impossibly more fucking social-based and there was no porn.

See, the Cullen clan was not an all-testosterone driven existence. The single breath of fresh feminine air in our otherwise overly masculine living space came in the form of a tiny, pixie-haired ball of vivacity. Alice Cullen completed our fucked up impersonation of a normal family and perfectly played the role of over-achieving daughter. Every fiber of my being should have loathed Alice and everything she embodied. Where Emmett was voted 'Most Likely to Crush You in an Impromptu Hug', Alice was the one bouncing around, impossibly excited and collecting all the ballots. Alice was popular in ways that made Emmett look like the class leper. She was genuinely kind and unapologetically uninhibited and energetic. Whether it be Advanced Calculus or giving herself a manicure, Alice applied a fierce level of determination to every facet of her life. On more occasions then I care to admit even my own self-induced indifference melted in the wake of her infectious enthusiasm. She dedicated her entire existence to having fun, enjoying life and achieving her own personal successes. The unfortunate fucker who tried to meet her with resistance or inhibit these goals was in danger of unleashing the fire of a thousand suns, which was the result of flipping the tiniest Cullen's switch to 'pissed-the-fuck-off'. She was sunshine and kittens and rainbows with a clandestine helping of deviousness. When she got the Porsche and I got the Volvo it should have cemented my detestation of the ground she walked on. But it didn't. The universe hated me and this sick joke was evidence of the fact, because for all the ways Alice embodied everything that I hated, she was the validation of my existence.

No one fucked with Alice Cullen because the price of such blasphemous behavior was a broken nose. Of course, as satisfying as that signature crunch may be, the mangled face of a boy who upset Alice was always credited to coincidence. Despite my protector status, I had been told an infuriatingly large number of times, 'she could take care of herself, thank you'. And it was true. I had seen the females daring enough to oppose my spiky-haired kin. Still, the urge to protect her was innate and overwhelming. I never stopped my plight of vengeance on Alice's behalf, I just learned to keep it behind the scenes.

Even odder than my natural urge to protect, Alice and I shared a bond that rivaled any relationship I had ever witnessed, let alone experienced. I loved her and her quirks and her unwarranted belief that I was a good guy. It was important to qualify that somehow these emotions were all strictly platonic. Despite not being bound by blood she was my sister, and to see her in any other way was just fucking sick. Of course, our relationship didn't happen overnight. Another of Alice's more admirable traits was persistence and she was certainly stubborn when she felt the cause was worthy. Despite my attempts to not-so-subtly blow her off she persevered. At first it was small things, like specifically including me in conversations at the dinner table or waiting for me in the driveway before school even though we drove there separately. Trying to avoid her attention eventually became exhausting and the moment I gave her an inch it was all over. Suddenly, she was barging into my room unannounced, which was highly annoying in the beginning, and hopping in my Volvo when she deemed the weather too treacherous for the Porsche. Then came the maddening mind reading and before I knew what the fuck had happened she was finishing my sentences. Even more perturbing was the fact that I no longer minded her invasion of my privacy. I was even tempted to go so far as to say that I enjoyed it, though I would never admit that out loud. Besides being extremely embarrassing and a blow to my brooding, loner façade, it was terrifying. Sometimes, the connection between us was so strong, a part of me wondered if it were possible that we could be blood bound siblings. Unfortunately, the fact that we were only four months apart in age extinguished this possibility, debunked by the simple logistics of human gestation.

Alice made me soft in ways that, admittedly, were quite uncomfortable. I savored privacy and the seclusion of my own thoughts, but she broke through those barriers with a graceful twirl. She could read me like an open book, which was quite a feat considering my meticulously practiced complacency. And, shit, could that girl pull a pout when she wasn't getting her way. At first, it was all deeply infuriating. I questioned the stability of my carefully crafted shield and wondered if I wasn't quite as invisible as I sought to be. Eventually I determined that Alice alone possessed this power and once I accepted the fact I quickly learned that it worked both ways. Surprisingly, Alice was somewhat unnerved by my inherent ability to see through her plastic smiles. Our coping mechanisms couldn't be more opposite, but I certainly appreciated that I wasn't alone in my identity crisis. Contrary to popular belief, the leap from shady foster homes to the Park Place of Forks, Washington wasn't an immediate cure-all. In fact, it was quite the opposite. If people like Carlisle existed, what had we ever done to deserve such fucked up childhoods, courtesy of immature, instable and emotionally unavailable parents? It seemed awfully unfair to knock around a six year old for spilling apple juice on the carpet when there were forgiving Carlisle Cullens in the world who could afford to refurnish the entire house on a whim and a week's paycheck. But I digress.

Thoughts of Alice always segued nicely into thoughts of Jasper, because for some time my effervescent pseudo-sister held some what of a candle for Jazz. The discovery of this information had thrown me for a loop and I still couldn't believe I had been so fucking blind to the fact. It had been the one thing Alice had ever truely fought to keep me from knowing, yet one late afternoon almost six months ago some harmless teasing had shed light on the situation. Emmett and Alice were practically begging me to go to some party down at Tyler Crowley's parent's boathouse and I had absolutely no intention of subjecting myself to Forks high's finest getting shitfaced and acting like fools. I had money on someone falling into the river and drowning. Morbidly, I had hoped it would be Stanley.

When I was steadfast in my decision, Alice asked Emmett hopefully if Jasper was going. Maybe she thought the presence of my best friend would leave me more inclined to attend. I had been out of patience with their attempts when I spat, "what? Do you fucking like the guy or something?" and then I was quickly out of air when her face turned a telling shade of pink. Ironically, I went to that party because suddenly the prospect of Alice and Jasper and alcohol needed supervision.

I tried like fucking hell to turn the other way when it came to the situation, but once the cat was out of the bag, Alice's attempts to charm the object of her affection were glaringly obvious. Luckily, these efforts were seemingly still going unnoticed by Jasper, though I couldn't fathom how. He was quite observant and Alice all but stripped naked when he entered the room, but as far as I knew no connection had yet been made. If he was aware of her perpetual worship, he kept it to himself and that was fine by me. I shuddered to think of what would happen if there was a mutual attraction that was acted on.

Unlike Emmett, Jasper was my friend by choice rather than convenience. He was my confidant and unlike with Alice I offered my thoughts willingly, rather than having them pried from my head. Despite this, there was still a clearly defined limit to my honesty and I shared much less than any traditional friendship would dictate, but he accepted that and I was thankful.

As far as Forks' family lineage went, Jasper was new blood. His mother had remarried the town's resident police chief a few years back, relocating him and his demon-spawn of a sister to the lovely state of Washington. Whether it was fate or coincidence, Jasper and I were seated next to each other in eighth period freshman Spanish on our first day at Fork's High.

I had a bit of a reputation preceding me when I entered high school. The naïve student body believed that because I was Emmett's brother we would somehow share similar social traits. They could not have been more wrong, although I admit that I had been a bit smug to overhear that I'd been labeled even more attractive than my kin, the heartthrob of Fork's high. Of course, this was long before I was aware of the skanky, brain-dead quality of female bred in the great town of Forks.

By the time the day was winding down, I'd had enough of the stares and the whispers and the female eye-fucking. So I was pretty pissed off when the blond haired boy to my left turned his entire chair to face me while I waited impatiently for the teacher to arrive and get on with it. I felt his eyes burning into the side of my head with such intensity I became unnerved.

"Can I fucking help you?" I'd spat, turning to meet his stare with what I'd hoped was a threatening expression. Much to my surprise, he'd laughed, genuinely, and shook his head.

"Are you as fed up with this place as I am?" he'd asked quietly, as though my outburst hadn't been answer enough.

My head nodded, which only added to my shock as I hadn't remembered making the conscious decision to respond to this puzzling new individual.

"Good," he'd responded. "Let's get the hell out of here."

For whatever reason, I followed him as he stood up, slung his backpack over his shoulder and sauntered out of the classroom. We had spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through the wooded areas of Forks, mostly silent, enjoying the freedom and the fresh air. We were best friends ever since, cutting Spanish often in preference of less scholastic teenage machinations.

I'd asked Jasper once what had made him single me out that day two and a half years ago, but he hadn't given me a real definitive answer. He had offered some bullshit, cryptic response, claiming he could just feel that I needed to get out of there and that he'd been contemplating the same. I let it go, because it didn't really matter and instead thanked the seating chart gods for locating me next to the single most seemingly normal person I had encountered during my entire time at Forks, though I admit 'normal' was an extremely subjective term. See, immediately, Jasper and I had a strange effect on the Forks student body. In the beginning, for some completely unknown reason, everyone sought our acceptance. Maybe it was because we appeared mysterious and introspective or maybe it was simply the challenge. The truth was that we weren't nearly as deep as we seemed; we were actually just indifferent. Or at least we were indifferent until the unwanted attention reached our annoyance threshold.

Just as the last beer had been drained and our banter had died down, an ominous, familiar rumble in the distance had us rising unceremoniously from our seats in the grass. Sunny days in Forks were not only rare, but they were also short-lived and the cautionary crashing thunder in the distance was our cue to start packing up. Emmett hoisted the cooler up from the ground and balanced it on his shoulder, tilting his head to stabilize the large plastic container. I could hear the clink of empty bottles as he struggled to find a comfortable position.

"You coming home with us?" I asked Jasper, nodding in the direction of the Cullen mansion.

Jazz seemed to consider the invitation, but after a moment sighed and shook his head.

"Swan's long-lost daughter is flying in today or something. I'm supposed to make an appearance." He didn't try to mask his indifference, but it was something I had come to expect.

Jasper and Chief Swan, like Carlisle and I, had not been able to cultivate the elusive father-son bond and although this was due mostly to Jazz's resistance, I could imagine the innate resentment one would harbor for the sudden, unexpected presence of a legitimate child. I wondered how I would feel if Carlisle had a son wandering around somewhere who showed up unannounced one day wanting to share our cushy lifestyle and living space. Without thinking, I reached out and gave Jasper an encouraging pat on the shoulder, then a quick shove as I once again wondered if I was becoming soft. He shot me the middle finger and Emmett a small wave before turning and jogging slowly in the opposite direction. I watched him go for a moment before a crack of lightening lit they graying sky and Emmett and I began the short walk up to casa de Cullen.


End file.
